


next generation

by justlikeswitchblades



Series: SASO 2017 [5]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, ROBOT x LASERBEAM (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, KNBxNBA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 22:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Aomine isn't sure if this is reverse culture shock or just the regular kind; he's half a decade removed from living in Japan, after all. He brings some comforts of the United States to distract himself; namely, his golf clubs, so he can drive out to a range and find some quiet.





	next generation

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: “Certainly solitude is dangerous for active minds. We require around us men who can think and talk. When we are alone for a long time, we people space with phantoms.” ― Guy de Maupassant, The Horla
> 
> (i didn't take it as creepy as i thought i would, but still)

Summer in America is the kind of summer that Aomine has grown accustomed to; Cleveland is a less busier city, much less than Chicago or New York yet more than Cincinnati. It’s hard to say the tourists make it any more busy, when he’s so used to the throngs of fans during the regular season and the playoffs; the Hall of Fame and the house from _A Christmas Story_ are draws, but probably not as much as the amusement parks scattered around Ohio. It’s a comfortable city to live in, even more so for Aomine, whose house is out in the suburbs, relatively unbothered when he goes out with friends for dinner.

The familiarity of Cleveland is comforting, though so is the prospect of vacation during the offseason, taking a few more rest days per week, exploring and eating less healthy. But his plan for this summer is not so much a vacation as it is a return; his mom has been getting on him for not visiting home for years now, despite his efforts to still call his parents once a week. She’d rather he come home to celebrate the new year, but his schedule never allows for that, and even if he tried, the jet lag would be a whole different beast compared to, well, playing a game on the West Coast. 

He owes Tokyo a debt for kickstarting his career when he was a kid, though, and even if he’s a decent cook, it’d be nice to have an authentic meal. There’s street food, too, and summer festivals; a world his job had taken him out of, but still has allowed him a healthy window to return.

Half a decade removed from Japan, his childhood home feels so much smaller now. His mother looks a little older in the face, but she’s still striking; his father has put on a few more pounds, but he was always on the lighter side, so that’s good. He still refuses to retire, and Aomine knows it’d be premature, but he’s their only son; he can take care of them financially if they wanted them too. But they’re stubborn just as he is; even if they needed his help, they’d still try their best to refuse it. He feels like less of a child in their home now, making him feel wistful in a way he isn’t sure how to phrase. It’s nice to have his dad crack open a beer for him though, praising him and his accomplishments on more equal terms.

Even so, there’s still a bit of culture shock when he comes back home. Remembering the conversion rates, a little bewildered when reintroduced to so much racial homogeneity. He brings some comforts of the United States to distract himself; namely, his golf clubs, so he can drive out to a range and find some quiet. 

He’s not the best at golf, but it’s about as social an activity among professional athletes as drinking is across, well, all classes--and drinks are pretty much guaranteed after a round of golf. On top of that, Reed and Hayes will definitely leave him to wade through the rough if he doesn’t practice while he’s away, and they deserve to be knocked down a peg.

The range is almost always deserted at night, which is Aomine’s favorite time to go, driving steady shots into the quiet air, save for some high school kid with dark hair and a deep tan, who seems to be omnipresent at the range no matter what hour Aomine visits. Aomine stops noticing him after a while (which would make him laugh and think of a friend, if he bothered to turn the thought over once more), the kid becoming a fixture, as he sprouted forth from the astroturf.

It’s a muggy night when he drives up to the range once more, the sky still illuminated orange when the sun has set, clouds hinting at a thunderstorm. He buys a bucket from the attendant, shrugs when he’s told they might close earlier depending on the weather. This place is still cheaper than paying for a community club membership back home. He’s about a quarter of the way through the bucket when a voice interrupts him.

“ _Ojiisan_ , you put too much power into your swing. Dial it down, and your balls will stop curving to the left.”

Aomine jumps, the head of his driver bumping his ball off the tee. He whirls around, his eyes fixing on steely gray ones, about a head shorter than him.

“Fuckin--shit,” Aomine curses again, though he doesn’t feel that bad about it; he’s not yet 25, and this kid has got to be in high school. “Don’t call me old.”

“You’ll start to feel old if you keep twisting your back so much,” The kid shrugs, and maybe Aomine does feel bad after all; he seems a touch kinder than Aomine was when he was that age--but not by much. “Just a suggestion.”

“Alright,” Aomine says after a beat, watching the kid pull the cover off his driver. “You willing to show me.”

“Only ‘cause you’re the range’s closest thing to a regular in ages,” The kid sticks a tee into the turf, standing opposite Aomine. “I don’t think I count anymore”

Aomine watches how the kid grips the club, lining his driver up with the tee. He pulls back almost in slow motion--and then he swings through, firing the ball off the tee like a gunshot. His jaw drops as he watches the ball sail, as if it’s flying to reach the stars. He blinks, stunned; he knows an athlete when he sees one. The kid smiles, pleased with his party trick.

“Wow,” Aomine whistles. “The PGA call you up yet?”

“I wish. The tournaments here aren’t the best,” shrugs the kid. “I don’t have much money to travel, so I just play with my school.”

“Better keep at it,” Aomine scratches his jaw. “Anyone who puts in enough effort can go pro.”

“I’m sorry-- _sir_ ,” The kid forces etiquette, trying not to laugh through the sentence. “You’re better than some of the guys that drop by here, but I don’t think you could even qualify as an amateur.”

“I’m happy enough with my day job,” Aomine cracks a grin. “I was talking about you, kid.”

“Well, yeah,” The kid shrugs, almost bored with the suggestion. “Everyone says I should go pro.”

“As they should,” Aomine opens a palm, giving the point to him. “But not everyone knows a few people.”


End file.
